


Attention

by entanglednow



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going to be crippled for life, incapable of standing, or sitting, or looking at a knee without wincing, ever again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attention

"Son of a bitch."

Danny really would love to know why he's always the one that gets smacked in the balls. Steve's the one who's always throwing himself at suspects, across parked cars, across un-parked cars, into doorways. If anyone should be the one hunched over, trying to decide if they could walk to the ice machine or just suffer in silence - it should be Steve McGarrett.

Instead Steve's sitting on the corner of the desk in his stupid cargo pants. Looking like a man who's never been hit in the balls in his entire life. Possibly because they're so big he keeps them in a cabinet somewhere.

"I'm going to be crippled for life, incapable of standing, or sitting, or looking at a knee without wincing, ever again." Danny can't help how choked he sounds, where he's leant into the desk. He's just happy to be breathing again.

"You're exaggerating."

"Believe me, there's no such thing as exaggerating when it comes to a man and his most precious possession."

Steve pushes himself off the desk, waves a hand. "Let me see."

"No," Danny says immediately. Holding both hands protectively in front of his crotch, teeth gritted when even the proximity makes him wince. He debates the merits of just collapsing, and laying on the desk until he feels better.

"You don't want to know if you've ruptured anything?"

He thinks he hates Steve for even putting that image in his head.

"No," Danny says firmly. "I don't want to look if there's even the faintest chance that I've ruptured anything," he admits. Which is...yeah, not exactly a plus. But he holds up a hand. "I will revel in blissful ignorance. Pain and ignorance."

But Steve's already pushing his hands away, pulling open his belt, tugging at his pants, in a way that's probably way past what he's comfortable with, or appropriate for their relationship. But Danny's too worried that something is going to be broken, or bleeding, or missing, to worry too much about it. Besides, Steve's so fucking competent at everything. It's like he drags people's pants down every day for some reason or another. If Danny comments on it, he'll be the one that's being weird.

It takes him a second to realise that having Steve on his knees in front of him, while he's mostly out of his pants and boxers is _probably_ one of those misunderstandings that can haunt you for your entire life.

"Umm." That's about as far as he gets because Steve's already turning him, making him stand up straight. Fuck, ow, yes, that hurts. But oddly enough the press of Steve's thumb into his hip when he eases him a little straighter, is almost as noticeable. The slow, hot rush of Steve's breath that close to his dick - he tells himself that no one would be able to ignore that. That it's only human to react. Because people rarely breathe on your intimate areas in a non-sexual setting and that's why there's confusion and interest and - considerable blood flow, considerable and uncomfortable blood flow. His cock fills, slowly, the shifting weight of it making him hiss.

Steve's looking up at him from his knees, eyes bright with amusement. Danny's so damn happy he's finding this funny. Steve's lucky he doesn't shake off his hands, fist his hair and open up that smirk with his cock.

 _Oh, Jesus._

His hips give one, helpless, traitorous twitch, before he forces himself still.

"Not helping, not fucking helping," Danny mutters, and it isn't until it's out that he realises he's just fucking _assumed_ Steve's doing it on purpose.

"Shall I stay here?" There's something smug and reckless and undeniably _Steve_ in his smile, when Danny looks down. But it's subtle and teasing. It's something Danny could laugh off if he wanted to. Or it's something he could push at. There are no lines with Steve, none at all. It's like you're always in danger of being pushed off the edge of _something._

"Fuck," Danny says quietly, which Steve seems to take as a yes, or hears the yes underneath the desperation, and the profanity. He has no fucking idea. All Danny knows is that Steve rocks up onto his knees, eyes fixed on him, and they stay that way, while his hands lift and pull him close. His mouth is hotter than Danny's expecting, opened up by the instinctive push of his own hips. And he's never, ever going to be able to stop picturing that.

It hurts, it hurts in a way that makes him hiss out a breath and dig his hand into Steve's hair. He has no idea what the hell he's doing, but it's good, crazy, stupid-good. He should stop. He should stop him. He should stop something. Probably. Instead he pulls, hard enough to get the wet stretch of Steve's mouth sliding down, all the way down. Fuck. _All the way_. It leaves him tensing and gasping, swinging wildly between bursts of unexpected lust, and vague disbelief. What the fuck are they doing?

The slow, wet suction is just on the line between discomfort and pain. It makes him feel bruised and sensitive, growling out a handful of words, though 'stop' isn't one of them.

"Ah, that fucking hurts," Danny complains. Then feels the slow lessening of suction, the way Steve's mouth goes soft and loose, like he's going to slide off.

Danny gives a short tug, instinctive, helpless.

"Don't stop."

There's a muffled noise of amusement, and Steve slides all the way down. It's good, it's so good, but there's also a stab of something tight and vicious that aches, which should in no way make it better. But Danny's hissing between his teeth and chasing it. His orgasm is slow, shivery and it has sharp edges that make it hurt more than a little. It leaves him feeling sore and sticky, eyelids down over his eyes. While he groans against the wall and curses at least five generations of Steve's family.

The air in the room is cold, where Steve's left him bare, and slick-wet with saliva.

"I'm pretty sure you're not missing anything," Steve decides, in such a normal tone of voice that Danny hates him, just a little.

Danny looks down at him, and this is maybe the first post-orgasmic scowl he's ever had to wear.

"Is that your considered medical opinion?" He sounds irritated, grateful and insane all at the same time. Which is a new record for him.

"Uh huh." Steve's mouth looks bruised, and his chin is wet. Which is _filthy_ and Danny thinks he's going to be jerking off to that for a while. He doesn’t even feel guilty about that because _fucking Steve McGarrett._ He'd probably be smug about that too.

"I'm adding this to the list of things which are your fault," Danny says.

  



End file.
